Toast to Lady Luck
by crackers4jenn
Summary: Spike comes to Sunnydale in s4 with all intent to dethrone Buffy, but another perky little blonde enters his life.


Breakups do a thing to a bloke. Mess with their minds a little, get 'em thinking things they have no right to be thinking.

At least was the case with Spike.

Few weeks ago, Dru ended things with him. Which, yeah, not exactly stopping the presses with the surprise of it, but it still stung like a bitch. Great big bloody understatement. Drusilla, love that she was, had decided that after a century plus of Spike's loyal and blinding devotion, she'd really rather just put a little space between them. You know, put herself back on the market. See if there was more made up of Drusilla than William the Bloody. Wanted to separate herself from him, be her own bloody woman, try out the homicidal lifestyle all on her own.

Of course, Spike blamed the entire thing on himself.

If he'd have put a little more effort into the chase. Maybe made her bleed a little more, maybe was a little rougher...

And she'd said he'd tasted like _ashes_. Well no bleeding shit, he only smoked damn near the majority of his unlife. He'd have pointed that out to her, but it'd only been pointless. That was just his darling Dru's proper fuck-off. Get these little thoughts swirling in his head about the _Slayer_, about stars and pixies and the King of bloody Hearts. All of it nonsense.

After that, Spike had left, headed straight for California, not a bleeding detour. Came to Sunnydale, man on a mission. Dru said he was covered in the Slayer? Hell, he had plans be a helluva lot more covered in her after he'd finished offing her as his third slayed Slayer. Little bit of blood, maybe. Some gore. All of it painted in that pretty shade of red.

Spike was all set to meet up with the little killer herself, play out one of them tense, damn bloody great encounters of theirs. You know, where he speechifies about her impending death, she throws back a pathetic quip or two, he laughs. Maybe they fight a bit.

But then it struck him how predictable that'd just have been.

He played that role the first time around-- the New Evil In Town, Just Gotta Make My Presence Known. And that ended up backfiring on him completely, as his present state of patheticness was account for. Figured maybe he'd go at this one differently. Practice that "patience is a virtue" rot people were always going off on, only he watered down 'virtue' to a liking more fitting.

And then he'd met Harmony.

He'd run across her at the Bronze-- and don't ask him why he willingly visited that joint. Blood was blood, made even more intoxicating when it'd come fresh out of your random drunken co-ed. That fact alone allowed him to tolerate the music they insisted on playing, though it was a small leash that tolerance was held on.

She was dancing on the main floor, shimmying to and fro. Dressed to kill in some halter top of sort, tight little leather pants outlining a body Spike knew he'd like to take for a test-drive from the very beginning. Cherry red lips. Little princess was playing dress-up. He'd picked her out as an easy meal. Planned it all out as he sat at the bar, eyes locked on her the entire time. Was going to panther-strut his way over to her, let her get one good look at him, and then haul her away. She seemed to be going solo tonight, so that worked in his favor. No gaggle of sorority girls to work through. And he had every confidence that she'd let him drag her to some dark corner, let him tuck them away unnoticed. He'd maybe let her think she was in control, let her set the tempo. Wouldn't have minded at all if she'd have wanted to take it to a cozier, more intimate location. Would've gladly shagged her senseless. And then enjoy his dinner.

Fuck and meal, all in one. Couldn't get any better than that.

The first half of his plan fell into place perfectly.

He'd set the shot glass down and eased his way through the crowd, tunnel vision. Focused solely on the girl, willing her to look up and see him through his thoughts alone. And she'd done so. Looked up mid-whirl, caught his stare. Some sultry, coy little smile curled her lips upwards as she upped her dancing, driving him wild with the way her hips started moving with more intent. Oh yeah. This one he would definitely play with first. He had grabbed her by the hand and pulled her away from the crowd, all without a single protest.

And that's around the time things got shot to hell.

He'd maneuvered them into one of the more seclusive, shadowed corners of the club, away from any prying sets of eyes. Was all set to move in and start with a little light nibbling when her disgusted snort broke through his haze. She'd said, in her honeyed voice, that this place was far too disgusting for the likes of delicate little her. Of course. Being ever the gentlemen, Spike merely succumbed to her wishes and dragged her to yet another corner. Bit more roomier, he'd decided, being that this corner came furnished with couches and chairs that would only help further his plan along.

Wasn't quite what the lady had in mind.

She insisted that they leave, complaining about the smell of cigarette smoke. He was all ready to just sod the whole 'fuck before dinner' thing and just sink his fangs into her skin when he'd realized that it was actually a pretty brilliant suggestion. One that would make the latter part of his plan a hell of a lot easier.

So he'd obliged.

They made it to the alley behind the Bronze, Spike figuring that nothing set the mood quite like the stench of rotted trash and the soft, quiet thump that could still be heard echoing from inside the club.

They'd fumbled drunkenly, despite the lack of actually being drunk, hands tugging at the others clothes. He'd been hard since he'd laid eyes on the girl, so he was all set to go in that department. And she was just as eager, nimble little fingers working their way up and down his body.

After those first moments of stumbling, they finally ended up against the wall, her back against it, him pinning her there. He'd swooped in, nipped at her jawline, trailed his lips down her neck, sucked on her pulse point--

Which was roughly about the time he realized she didn't _have_ a pulse. There was a thump-thump noise, but that was the music from the club, as previously established. He pulled away and eyed her, listening harder. Maybe she was doped up on something, making the damn thing lull. He'd waited a good few minutes, her staring dumbly at him in confusion all the while, before things finally registered.

"You're a vampire!" Bloody hell. Well there went his free meal. He couldn't help but snort. "You're a vampire."

"Well, yeah," she scoffed, eyeing him like he was an idiot. Which, given the circumstances, he just might be. "_Duh._"

Typical.

Lower parts of him were still willing to play it all out-- free shag, right? Never mind dinner, he could get it elsewhere. And coming off his break-up with Dru? He damn well deserved this! A century of sodding loyalty to Drusilla merited a little sexual freedom. Yeah, he deserved this. More than deserved it. He was _owed_ it, by the Powers That Fucking Be, by Lady Luck-- take your bloody pick.

He pulled her into him with a snarl, ignoring the way her hands shot up protectively between them and gripped at his shoulders.

"God, mood swings much? You could warn a girl next time, you know."

He could argue. Could point out that there actually wouldn't _be_ a next time, but thanks ever so. But then those little red lips parted in a sigh, she was all coiled tight against him-- she was pissed, he was horny. Wasn't really much else to do besides lean in and kiss her. Which he did, startling her. Not caring in the least at the sqwack of protest she let out (or the way she started hitting at his chest with feather-light punches to get him off), he delved in and set to work. Little bit of tongue, little nibble on the bottom lip...

Eventually she pried him off of her, leaving him left with his lips still open and all ready for another go.

The bint was having none of that. Her hands settled on her hips, one leg jutted out to the side, and she offered up a nasty glare.

So help him, if the bitch said he tasted like ashes, he'd--

"You're lucky I don't kick your ass."

He blinked. Was she serious? He'd laugh it wasn't so damn annoying.

"Hello, living on the Hellmouth?" she continued primly. "Let's just say I've picked up a thing or two, and not just because of Jackie Chan movies. I know things, _guy_, so if I were you I'd start thinking twice about trying to-- Wait a sec! You totally have an accent, don't you!"

The eyebrow that had been raised during her little tirade now shot a full inch higher. "Yeeeeeah."

"Gah, I love accents! And yours! Oh my god, _French_. I love French accents! I've always wanted to go there-- shopping on the Shontze Alizay thing? God, could you imagine! It's like Rodeo Drive, except way classier."

Spike merely stared. First off-- French? He could stake her for the implication alone. Not to mention the blathering. If there was such a thing as an instant de-hardenizer, here she was in perky cheerleader form. Which was a contradiction all on its own. Spike could feel his sexual drive come screeching to a halt. But then he realized he'd just thought the word 'come', so it brought things back into focus.

"Listen, the chatting? It's nice. Really, you're a dazzling little speaker, kitten--"

She slithered in close before he could finish, this time pinning him to the wall. Well, well, well. Let's give that toast to Lady Luck, after all. He more than obliged, feeling his borrowed blood start to flow to the proper parts and leaned comfortably back against the bricks. He was equal parts willing, aroused, and annoyed. Annoyed, because-- he wanted to play this game his way. The domineering act was cute, but he wasn't looking for cute.

"I think I have something you want," she said, leaning in close, eyelids blinking rapidly. Was an attempt at flirtatious, he supposed.

"Really? And what might that be?"

One finger with a pink-colored tip ran down his chest, both him and her watching it as it did so. If possible, things swelled even further down below. The urge to give in to what his more southern brain was clearly thinking and end the teasing was a strong one, but he resisted. It'd been a long two weeks since he up and left Dru, in the process jumpstarting a state of celibacy that spanned that same amount of time. First time since then, first time with someone other than Dru (he wasn't going to think about her, he wasn't going to choke up) he wanted things to last. Take it slow.

Fuck, who he was he kidding.

He grabbed her teasing hands and spun them around, shoving her against the wall with an audible thud of her head making contact before he slammed his body into hers, hips first and mouth latching on quickly.

Only got so far before she broke free with a gasp. "Wait, what's your name?"

He rolled his eyes, moving back in. What the hell did she need to know his name for? She didn't. Unless it struck her fancy to scream it out in a few minutes when he was no doubt in the midst of some mind-numbing fucking-- second thought: "Spike."

"Spike?" She snorted. "Please tell me you're kidding, right? I can _not_ date a guy named Spike!"

Wait, hang on a tick. Back up-- date! Who said anything about dating?

"It's bad enough you're a total freak, stuck in the goth faze that I swear to God died along with Marilyn Manson's popularity-- not to mention the whole channeling-Billy Idol thing--"

"Hey!"

"But there is no way I'm calling you _Spike_."

Well now he was all offended. Spike was a damn good name, hence picking it out himself, and if she'd quit her yapping for two bloody seconds on end she'd see firsthand exactly why.

"Good thing then I'm not interested in hearing you call me anything, 'cept maybe 'best you ever had'."

Her huff of disbelief caught his attention.

"Great. _And_ you have an ego. Way to go, Harmony! Sure, nesting sounds like fun. All the cool vampires are doing it, why not you? But ohh, you couldn't have picked out someone a little less challenged, could you?"

"Harmony?"

"What?" she snapped, still in her self-hate mode.

"Not what-- that's your name? _Harmony_."

"And points to the lame-o for his great detective skills. Really, I'm _so_ impressed."

"Your name is _Harmony_?" He smirked, moving in close. Tempted her with a leer as he pinned her back in place, pleased as she melted into him. "That's a _very_ pretty name."

All previous traces of her anger evaporated. Up in smoke they went, replaced with a sense of total appreciation. Which was only natural, considering his charms.

"I love your accent," she drawled, eyes hooded and heavy.

"Yours, too," he said, playing up every single one of his naturally inherited God Given's to further lull her in. Not that he particularly needed it, but this one seemed a little windy upstairs-- had to be kept entertained, if you get the gist of it.

"Yeah?" she asked back, flirtatious smile lighting up her face. "What else do you love, Spikey?"

He growled, thrusting upwards. "I love..."

---------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------- ----------

"Drusilla," Spike sulked, twenty minutes later. The confrontation in the alley had pretty much added up to a whole lot of nothing after Harmony had to go and spoil the mood. And damn right he was pinning the whole thing on her. "She's a bloody bitch, you know that? The biggest. Except... it's part of why I love her. She always had this thing... this way to her..." He trailed off with a deep sigh.

Harmony, sitting at his side with a diet coke in hand, listened intently. It probably came as a bit of a shock when, instead of making out with the really hot French guy like she thought she was going to, said really hot French guy started crying on her shoulder. But then there were all these maternal instincts that, and don't even ask her where they came from, started to kick in. Plus he was still totally hot.

"Breakups suck," she offered.

"Ain't that the truth," he said, voice loud in agreement. Only lasted the few seconds before his shoulders slumped back down. "But, me and Dru... she was a keeper. Literally, sometimes. It was her favorite game. Used to... God," he said, choking back a (manly!) sob. "She used to lock me up. Keep me chained, weeks on end. I never knew where she was, my Dru, but she always came back."

Harmony swirled the ice in her drink around with her straw. "Why'd you guys break up, anyway?"

Spike snorted. "Hell if I know. No, you know what? I _do_ know." His mood shifted quickly into anger. "The _Slayer_."

"Buffy?" The straw swirling stopped. "Well, that's... _gross_."

"You know the Slayer!"

"Uhm, _yeah_. We went to school together. God, she was so lame. You should've seen her, always grouped together with her dorky friends--"

"Sounds about right," Spike huffed. Still, this bint here knew the Slayer? Bloody typical. (Insert the obligatory rot about 'the world's a small place'.)

"Were you and her... you know... did you two..." She made a cute little gesture... which turned far less cute when it registered with Spike what said little gesture was actually implying.

"No! Bloody hell, no. God, woman, forget who you're talking to? _Vampire_ here."

"So," Harmony replied, shrugging. "I mean, everybody has their kinks..."

"Point there, but we're talking the _Slayer_ here." Spike couldn't help the full-body shudder at the images that started to pop up in his head of a very naked, very sweaty Slayer. He took a long, gulping drink of his alcohol, reminding himself that that road was a road only souled, pathetic poofters pranced down. "God, I need something harder than this..."

Harmony, ever the conversationalist, barreled on. "So, she just came between you guys... because?"

"Because she's a bleeding menace, that's how! Favorite past times include: Shag The Poof, Foil My Plans, and Ruin _Everything_."

"Huh. She really broke you two up? You and Durzilla--"

"_Dru_silla."

"Oh, right."

Spike sighed, more than tired of this current topic of choice. "Anyway," he said, setting down his empty shot glass and standing up from the bar. "You ready?"

"Ready?"

"Well, yeah." Cue the leer. "You, me... cozy little motel room for two. Was thinking you and me get properly... _aquainted_."

"What about Drusilla?"

"Now you're getting it." He grabbed her by the hand, yanking her to his side where she promptly (and pleasantly, if you ask Spike) fell right into him.

"Wait!" she screeched, pushing off of him. "Two seconds ago you were all crying--"

"I wasn't bloody crying!"

"over your girlfriend--"

"_Ex._"

"--and now all of a sudden you wanna drag me back to some hotel room to, what? _Use_ me to get over _Drusilla?_"

Spike blinked. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Oh." The kittenish smile was back, and she shrugged cheerfully. "Okay!"

And thus began the fallout of Spike's heavily laid plan to dethrone the Slayer.


End file.
